


Hustling Pool

by DragonxFox



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Possessive Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:25:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1591622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonxFox/pseuds/DragonxFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Shhh," Sam mumbles, nuzzling Dean's chest the same way he always does before sleeping. "My Dean."</p>
<p>And Dean can't deny that. Has never really been able to deny Sam anything.</p>
<p>Maybe that's the problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hustling Pool

Sam is all of sixteen and Dean is out, hustling pool with his fake ID in his backpocket, drinkin' a beer as he loses a round or two, trying to get a feel of the players.

And Sam can't help the claustrophobic feel he gets at night, when their dad isn't home and Dean is god-knows-where, so he goes to the arcade closest to their motel. That's where Dean used to take him when Sam got like this, but those times have passed and it doesn't hurt as much as it used to when he doesn't find his brother there.

So he goes back to the motel, rummaging through his sack until he finds an ID that will get him through the front door. He's skinny and almost Dean's height now, but his face is too young for drinkin' in public. The ID he pulls out says he's one year below the requirement, something Dean laughed at him for when Sam insisted on it, but it's helped Sam find his brother countless times. Not so many questions asked when he tells them he's looking for his brother. Names are never important when they see Sam's pleading face.

And tonight, with the walls and silence clawing at him everywhere he turns, he walks into the bar, barely managing his famous puppy eyes, as Dean calls it, to get past the man blocking his way. 

"I just want to find my brother," he says. "Brown hair, green eyes. Young."

And while the man's still uncomfortable about it, he lets Sam through. The pleading in his face falls away the instant his eyes land on Dean.

His brother's got a girl against a wall. And while he can't make out the expression on either of their faces, something inside him seethes. The clawing sensation that's been making him nearly insane for the past four hours comes to the forefront, destroying the natural rhythm of his breathing and turning it shallow. He stumbles inside, not even bothering to look anywhere else as he approaches the two of them.

"What-" Dean starts, hands balled into fists as Sam finishes pulling the girl away from him. "Sam, go back to the room."

There's a command in his voice, same one dad uses when hes angry. And Sam recognizes it, but he hasn't really listened to dad in a long while. “No, Dean.”

"Who’s this?" the girl, Sam realizes, hasn't left. Is, in fact, looking between them with too much confusion and Sam barely holds back an angry laugh.

"Really, Dean? You came here for a drunk fuck?"

"Dean?" the girl asks, looking at Dean with slowly growing awareness. "Oh my god, I thought you were Paul."

Sam doesn't bother saying anything as Dean runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he mumbles, more to himself than the two standing near him, “because that’s what I told you.” He looks at Sam, his green eyes colder than they ever are on his little brother as he says, in a voice loud enough for her to hear, “I think I’m going to head out. You should do the same.”

The man at the door doesn't say anything as Sam and Dean walk out the door, for which Sam is extremely grateful. He hasn't seen his brother this mad in a long while. Not since Sam pushed him away when a banshee headed straight for them. And even then, the anger wasn't truly directed at Sam.

Dean storms into their room, kicking off his boots as he starts pacing the length of it and Sam takes his time locking the door and taking his own boots off.

"What the fuck?" Dean yells, stopping right in front of him. "There’s no case," he starts, green eyes flashing with his emotions and Sam's stupidly happy that they're not flat anymore, "Dad hasn’t called. You didn’t even bother to call. So, what the fuck, man?"

"I-"

"No," Dean snaps. "I don’t, you don’t do that, Sammy, ok? Not when I’d finally found some way to relax in this hodunk."

"Well, what am I supposed to do, Dean?" Dean's eyes widen at that, not used to having his little brother yelling at him when dad's not the immediate problem. "While you’re off, hustling pool or finding girls, I’m either here alone and worried about you and Dad or worried that you’ll end up in some jail for the fake ID’s you use while Dad’s not around to bail you out.” He takes a breath, shaking his head as he looks at his brother. “I can’t, Dean.”

"Come on, Sammy," Dean says, trying to swallow the lump stuck in his throat. "Not like I haven’t gotten out of jail before."

"That’s not the point, Dean."

"Yeah," Dean whispers, shoulders sagging under Sam's heavy gaze. "I know it’s not."

And later, when Dean's sitting on his bed, listening to the distant hum of the tv, he pretends not to notice Sam shifting restlessly. The kid's gotta get used to it, after all. If he's ever going to get his chance at a normal life, the one away from Dean and their dad, with school and a career, he can't keep sharing Dean's bed.

They don't fit anymore, anyway. But when Dean starts to drift, he's colder than he'd like to be, even under the covers. His shirt and boxers don't warm him the same and he rolls onto his side, trying to find a more comfortable position, only to find his brother staring at him with those pitiful eyes.

"No, Sam."

But Sam doesn't listen. Because he needs his brother too much and Dean would never refuse him, really. Even when he stumbles in drunk, reeking of perfume or sex, he still lets Sam into his bed. Still lets him push Dean onto his back so he can rest his head on his brothers chest. So that he can wrap a leg around his brother's waist and nestle in close.

And sometimes Dean doesn't drink a drop of booze. Sometimes he doesn't come back smelling like someone else. Sometimes, when their father is gone, Dean lets Sam cling to him like this, even if they're not wearing shirts because of the heat.

And sometimes, Sam wakes up to his brother moaning, hips lifting up into his.

Sam never mentions those. Out of fear of his brother's reaction, mostly. Dean always freaks out when he wakes up like that; still hard and on the edge or cursing when he's no longer hard, but staining the inside of his boxers instead.

Except. Except this time, when Dean's hips rise up into his in the morning, Sam's half hard himself. And when he grinds down, the moan that slips from his brothers lips sends a strange shiver down his back.

He does it again, hoping to get another noise like that, only to have his brother come awake with something between a groan and a curse.

"Sam," he says, tone harsh and rough with sleep.

It leaves Sam right on the brink and he can't help but grind back down on his brother, coming much harder and sooner than he expected.

"Fuck," Dean says, shaking beneath him, "Sam, Sammy, please."

And Sam's really not in the mood for his brother's panic. He turns to face him, hand drifting, gripping his brother's dick, which is still hard - even though his brother's breathing way too quickly with his still rising panic.

"S’ok, Dean," he mumbles, nuzzling Dean's chest as he begins to slowly jack him off. But Dean's more than a little awake now and his hands land on Sam's shoulders. He's going to push him away and Sam's suddenly remembering last night. He's remembering the girl that was all over Dean and his grip on his brother's dick tightens, dragging a choked sound from Dean's lips as his fingers dig into Sam's shoulders.

"Come on, De," Sam whispers, increasing the speed while loosening and tightening his grip whenever Dean's hands or the sounds he makes seem like he's going to ask Sam to stop. "Almost there," he says, "You’ve done it before."

And that’s it. Dean lets go of Sam's shoulders, slamming them onto the bed as he lets out a hoarse curse and comes, knuckles going white on the sheets.

Neither of them say anything for a moment and Sam wraps himself on his brother once more, getting comfortable before yawning, feeling too loose to care about the come drying inside both of their shorts.

"Sam, I-"

"Shhh," Sam mumbles, nuzzling Dean's chest the same way he always does before sleeping. "My Dean."

And Dean can't deny that. Has never really been able to deny Sam anything.

Maybe that's the problem.


End file.
